


Words Unsaid

by ofarecklessmind



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofarecklessmind/pseuds/ofarecklessmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They freeze and watch each other drown in words unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Unsaid

“Then how do you feel, Sherlock?” John shouts, tossing his hands into the air and ringing them through his hair in frustration, “oh, that’s right, you don’t! You’re Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and shite flatmate. You don’t need emotions because they interfere with your work as a self-proclaimed sociopath. God forbid you exhibit a tracing of humanity. I’m not your experiment, Sherlock. You can’t just play with my emotions and then expect me to give you the results that you want. What am I to you? I don’t keep up with the rent. I’m shit at cases and I’m gone half the time trying to shag with some random woman who inevitably leaves me because of my impossible loyalty to you. Why do you even bother with me? Just let me leave, for god’s sake. You’re better off without me.” John grabs his cane and begins limping his way to the flat’s exit. His home can’t be built in snide remarks and cold criticisms. A life can’t be built around a machine’s attitude wrapped around an old soldier’s hollow bone.

Rotten bones crumble in lies and sour in truths soaked in silence.

 

Sherlock hurries forward and takes hold of John’s wrist, not enough to cease him, but enough to grasp his attention. Surely enough, John turns and meets eyes with Sherlock’s, the hurt painfully glazing across their sincere green mask.

Sherlock wants to cringe at the very idea of hurting such a loyal companion. The humanity turns in his chest and pulls at his heart strings. He can feel their impossible entanglement. He plucks at them and pulls them in an attempt to glimpse the man concealed within them. When did he lose himself? How could he have lost sight and fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t blind?

“John,” he manages, the terrorism his mind has accumulated finally revealing the scars it has left behind. His eyes open to the world of damage and confusion he has laid before his unsuspecting doctor friend. His hands slip down and intertwine fingers with his companion’s. He’s been dropped into the middle of his own minefield now. He meets gazes with his flat mate. They’re traversing unsteady ground. But now they’re together so they can’t be doing too shabby, Sherlock reasons.

John tries to look away, but Sherlock pulls him around, grabbing hold of his other hand and-as a result- igniting a supernova. The cane falls to the ground and makes a loud crack. Sherlock appears unphased by the noise. His urgency screams in his eyes. His terror at the risk of losing John is a hurricane’s worth of damage reflected in his open mouth, filled with wrong words, pulling his eyes a shade darker than they should be and paling his skin tone as sallow as the ghostly tinge of a man he fears becoming again.

They freeze and watch each other drown in words unsaid.

“There is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep you here, John. Caring for you is-“he’s cut short as John pulls him in tight. Their lips meet; a hunger exchanged between them.

A susurrus of unspoken words breathes in course rasps as they delve into their ravage. Their minds break off their gates and unleash an ocean of raw, incomplete thoughts. They tear through each other’s seams, bomb one another’s buriers, and claw mercilessly for information. They melt into what they could no longer call the remarkable detective man and his companionable ex-army doctor friend, but rather two chemicals mixed into a beaker to result in a fiery explosion. John’s face falls into the raggedy sleuth’s shoulder and his eyes flutter shut as the power of the moment sedates his conscious thought. Sherlock absorbs the moment, savoring its silent luxury. John’s rough, war-calloused fingers memorize the soft, slick hairs curling near the back of his neck, twirling them into tiny, dark ringlets. The heat between them could warm a galaxy and the ensuing connection could destroy one.

The smell of John’s cheap aftershave ensnares the detective’s nostrils and shoots smoke through his mind. He surrenders. He traces the doctor’s warm neck and pauses, breath falling in soft slews as his lips pause at the curve of the other man’s jaw. He pulls back and asserts his gaze upon John’s. Their eyes exchange electricity, revealing the full weight of their unspoken conversation.

They exchanged breath. They exchanged emotion. They exchanged promises and humanity.

“I don’t want to know what I’d become without you,” Sherlock says, “The man I was before I met you is not a man I want to be again. Losing you would be- I want you to stay for as long as the world allows.”

John brushes his lips gently against his partner’s neck, “I’ll stay.” He whispers.


End file.
